BROKEN DREAMS 59 A DEEP-SWORN VOW 63 PRESENCES 64 THE BALLOON OF THE MIND 66 TO A SQUIRREL AT KYLE-NA-GNO 67 ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM 68 IN MEMORY OF ALFRED POLLEXFEN 69 UPON A DYING LADY 72 EGO DOMINUS TUUS 79 A PRAYER ON GOING INTO MY HOUSE 86 THE PHASES OF THE MOON 88 THE CAT AND THE MOON 102 THE SAINT AND THE HUNCHBACK 104 TWO SONGS OF A FOOL 106 ANOTHER SONG OF A FOOL 108 THE DOUBLE VISION OF MICHAEL ROBARTES 109 NOTE 115 THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine and fifty swans. The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All's changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold, Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake's edge or pool Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day To find they have flown away? IN MEMORY OF MAJOR ROBERT GREGORY 1 Now that we're almost settled in our house I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tower, And having talked to some late hour Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed: Discoverers of forgotten truth Or mere companions of my youth, All, all are in my thoughts to-night, being dead. 2 Always we'd have the new friend meet the old, And we are hurt if either friend seem cold, And there is salt to lengthen out the smart In the affections of our heart, And quarrels are blown up upon that head; But not a friend that I would bring This night can set us quarrelling, For all that come into my mind are dead. 3